Ginger Beer
by castrovalva9
Summary: While celebrating Tegan's return home, the Doctor gets drunk on ginger beer and accidentally proposes to Nyssa. Fifth DoctorNyssa pairing.
1. Chapter 1

Beta read by Kara MT.  
Set after _Time-Flight_.  
I've been working on this story for ages, and finally came to the conclusion that if I don't post something _now_, it'll never happen. This part can stand alone. I might eventually add more; I might not. If I do, it will get very shippy. If I don't go on, what you see is what you get.

* * *

The Doctor was celebrating.

He'd been hoarding a stock of the finest ginger beer for decades, in anticipation of a special occasion, and that time had finally arrived. He had managed to get Tegan home, even if it was by accident, and he'd managed to leave her there, even if by accident he had also failed to say an appropriate goodbye.

Yes, he deserved a treat. As many treats as he could drink before he passed out, in fact.

He sloshed a generous portion of the contents of the nearest bottle into his glass and then noticed that Nyssa wasn't keeping up. She was merely toying with her glass, lifting it and setting it down again, forming little wet rings on the kitchen table.

What had he been thinking before he looked at the rings? He couldn't remember, and settled for informing Nyssa, "Now that Tegan isn't around to hear it, I don't mind telling you I sometimes despaired of getting her home."

She nodded in a weary sort of way. "Yes, I know."

"How do you know that?" the Doctor wondered.

"Because you said it approximately three minutes ago," Nyssa said gently.

"Oh." The Doctor took another swig of ginger beer. He paused to marvel at how delicious it tasted before resuming, "Anyway, Tegan's home and it's just you and me now, Nyssa. Wherever you want to go. Whatever you want to do. Whenever." He spread his arms in an extravagant gesture, nearly toppling his glass in the process.

Nyssa performed a quick save and then finally tasted her drink. When she had finished the glass, she turned to the Doctor. "I can't travel with you any longer," she said baldly.

The Doctor blinked. "Why not?"

"Because," Nyssa said, pouring herself another helping, "it isn't proper. It was all right when Adric and Tegan were around. It wasn't just you and me then. But how do you think it looks now, with the two of us alone? I'll tell you: It looks... disreputable!"

The Doctor struggled to work his mind around her logic, which was decidedly foreign to him even after taking the potential effects of the ginger beer into account. "Are you saying you're concerned about what people will think?"

"Yes!" Nyssa tossed her head. "Yes, I am! Don't you remember that nasty little man at the hotel last week? How he looked at you and me and Tegan?"

The Doctor did indeed remember.

_The receptionist's expert gaze encompassed the three of them. "Welcome to the Bradford Hotel. You're in luck; we've just had a cancellation and have a room now available."_

"We need two rooms," the Doctor promptly corrected.

The other man frowned, looked from the Doctor to Tegan to Nyssa, and finally checked his records. "I suppose we do have a second room. If you and your..." He looked inquiringly at the Doctor and Tegan.

"Tegan is my... niece?" the Doctor offered.

"Oh, **that **sounded convincing," Tegan muttered.

"We're just travelling companions," the Doctor stressed, shooting her a quelling look.

The receptionist winked. "I understand. Let me assure you, we are very discreet here. You and your 'niece' and your other 'niece', I presume, are quite welcome. I'll make sure no one disturbs you; I'm sure you want your privacy."

At the time, Nyssa hadn't seemed unduly upset by the receptionist's insinuations, the Doctor thought, but then again, he was learning all sorts of new things about her tonight. She must be better at concealing her emotions than he had previously believed. She was so quiet and undemanding that he admittedly at times took her patience and good nature for granted. What was that old Earth saying? Still waters ran deep?

Nyssa was speaking again and she certainly seemed upset. "I couldn't even really blame that man because what else was he supposed to think, looking at us? Now that it's just you and me, more and more people are going to assume the exact same thing. Don't you agree?"

She was looking at the Doctor like she expected a sensible answer. "Ah, yes?" he guessed.

"Right!" Nyssa exclaimed. "That's exactly the problem. So you realise, as soon as possible you'll have to leave me on the nearest suitable planet."

Somehow, the Doctor had agreed to an action he had never intended to support. Perhaps worse, Nyssa was becoming rather worked up. He saw tears in her eyes, and her lips were trembling. He watched anxiously; if Nyssa cried, he was not quite sure what he should do. Then the ginger beer worked its magic, as Nyssa lifted her refilled glass and drained the contents. She did not cry, but instead drank at a steady pace.

Time passed and the Doctor mulled over how he never could stand to be alone. Now he was fast sliding in that direction. Most recently he had lost Adric, and Tegan couldn't wait to get away from him. He didn't think he could bear it if Nyssa left as well. That was the problem with his companions, always wanting to go their own way just about as soon as he had them nicely broken in. Even worse, Nyssa was one of the more promising of the lot, since unlike certain others she actually listened to him most of the time. It really wasn't fair of her to threaten to leave. It was an uncharitable thought, but then, he felt he had some right to be uncharitable. He'd invested a lot of time and emotion in Nyssa, and he hadn't yet received a fair return.

The Doctor and Nyssa sat glumly, imbibing several more glasses of ginger beer apiece. The drinks seemed to help the Doctor think, because after five additional glasses he had come up with a glaringly logical solution. Yes, he thought, it would work. Nyssa was quite amiable and they had always got on very well. She never argued with him and only rarely asked questions so foolish they made him want to tear out his hair in despair. He couldn't lose a paragon of a companion like her. There was really only one thing to do.

"You know," he informed Nyssa, blearily regarding her from behind his latest ginger beer, "we could get just married. If we were married, there wouldn't be anything improper about us travelling together, correct?"

Nyssa nodded vigorously, almost falling from her chair in the process. "Being married would make us very proper. I definitely wouldn't have to leave."

"Then it's settled." The Doctor tried to refill their glasses and realised only after several fruitless efforts that the final bottle of his precious supply was empty. "We can't drink to it, but we're engaged."

In the morning, the Doctor was sober. He hadn't even a touch of hangover, but for some reason a feeling of dread hovered over him.

He fought to remember: What had happened last night? Had they encountered any more monsters composed of bubble bath? Individuals named Smarte or Mertas or any other anagram of "Master"?

Oh, yes. He had overindulged in ginger beer and become engaged to Nyssa. That was all.

_That was all?_

He didn't want to marry Nyssa! Oh, he liked her very much and appreciated the fact that her voice never approached the decibel level of Tegan's finest efforts, but he had felt that way about Adric as well and wouldn't have wanted to marry him, either.

The Doctor could almost feel a noose tightening about his neck. It was all the fault of that wretched, tempting, seductive ginger beer, and if he hadn't run out of it last night, he would have downed another bottle on the spot to help him forget his current fix.

Then he calmed down and forced himself to engage in rational thought. Nyssa must have drunk almost as much ginger beer as he had. With some luck, she wouldn't remember a bit of their unfortunate conversation. And even if chance she did happen to recall the less illustrious parts, surely she didn't truly want to marry him any more than he wanted to marry her. She was certain to laugh off the entire idea, and then they would return to their old comfortable friendly footing.

Having thus reassured himself, the Doctor proceeded down the corridor to the console room in relatively good humour. After all, he _had_ scored a stunning (if entirely inadvertent) success in transporting Tegan to Heathrow, and he was still proud of himself. In a modest way, of course.

As he neared his destination, he was poised to utter the words. Any of several phrases would work a treat. Perhaps he should go with, "This is a terrible mistake." Then again, "We're better off as friends" had a winning ring to it, and "I was drunk!" was the ultimate in honesty. Honesty was good. But then he stepped into the console room and caught sight of Nyssa's bright, expectant face and his hearts sank. Immediately he realised he couldn't say a word. Honesty would _not_ be good in this particular case.

Again, he cursed that ginger beer. 


	2. Chapter 2

Pretending to be absorbed in a page of biochemistry notes, Nyssa stole a surreptitious glance across the console room at the Doctor. No doubt about it, he was was extremely unnerved. He hadn't once looked her in the eye, instead focusing on a spot just beside her head or managing to speak to her with his back turned.

Nyssa, having expected as much, was not unduly concerned. He simply needed some time to come around to the idea of them as a couple. She truly thought she could have waited a full century without saying anything and it never would have occurred him to do so on his own. They would have travelled on indefinitely, in exactly the same manner as before, until an external force ended their acquaintanceship. It wasn't what she wanted at all.

So, when presented with a prime opportunity in the form of numerous bottles of ginger beer and a drunken Doctor, she had manipulated the situation internally. (The fact that she'd been a bit tipsy at the time had helped, too.) True, her gentle nudge had manifested itself as more of an enthusiastic shove, but _he_ had been the one to bring up the subject of marriage. With his guard down, he had been expressing his innermost feelings without inhibitions. Now, in the light of day, he was panicking, probably inventing all manner of obstacles. But he had liked the idea well enough last night. The situation was not without hope. Yes, Nyssa decided, she would work on the matter. If the Doctor did not eventually warm up to it, she promised herself, she would gracefully let him off the hook.

A few minutes later, she allowed him to make up a transparent excuse so he could escape down the corridor. It wouldn't do her any good to press too hard, too soon. She would corner him later on and introduce talk of their engagement on her own terms.

* * *

Alone in a distant corridor, the Doctor breathed a sigh of relief. He had never before felt uncomfortable in Nyssa's presence but that single torturous hour spent with her this morning had already made up for all the other peaceful days, in spades. Every time she opened her mouth he had tensed, expecting her to chatter on about wedding plans. Fortunately, she had mentioned the dreaded issue only once, stating that they could talk about it "later". And, the Doctor optimistically thought, "later" could mean decades from now. Centuries, even.

Or it could mean later today. On the heels of this disheartening thought, the Doctor wandered into the kitchen and promptly wandered back out. Even looking at the setting of last night's folly was too much to bear.

Lunch, which arrived much too soon for his comfort, was a thoroughly depressing affair. Gone was the old camaraderie; absent were the easy, casual discussions. They had been replaced by long, leaden silences, interspersed with the occasional excruciatingly polite "please pass the butter" and "thank you".

Attempting to break the tension, the Doctor cleared his throat. Nyssa looked at him expectantly, appearing completely willing to hang on his every syllable. He could think of nothing to say, cleared his throat again, and gave up the idea of conversation as a bad job. They finished their meal without exchanging a meaningful word.

Afterwards, while hiding (there was no better word for it) in the library, the Doctor realised that he didn't know how many more days like this that he could bear. Then a truly chilling thought struck him: How long could he expect Nyssa to be around, anyway? If she'd been from Earth, he could have relaxed. Barring any unfortunate accidents, maybe 60 years longer and the typical human of Tegan's generation would expire. But he expected that with his recent run of luck, Trakenites were bound to be substantially hardier than humans. The problem was, he wasn't sure _how_ substantially. And of course it would be rather rude, under the circumstances, to enquire of Nyssa how long she might be expected to live. He imagined that cringeworthy conversation.

_"Nyssa, please overlook the fact that this question is most insensitive, considering that your homeworld was destroyed, but I was wondering what the average Trakenite lifespan is."_

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I want to know how soon you'll die like all the rest of your people and free me from your onerous presence."

"It's about 5,000 years. You'll have to wait a while."

No, it would never do. Besides, he didn't really want Nyssa to die. He just wanted her to develop a convenient case of amnesia or the like.

A tap on the door interrupted these sorry thoughts. Nyssa had tracked him down.

She sidled into the room and with the inevitability of doom, the Doctor immediately sensed that she wanted to talk about the engagement. He, on the other hand, wanted to pretend it didn't exist.

Nyssa won, by the entirely unfair tactic of engaging in speech. "I've been thinking about our engagement." The Doctor's hearts leapt; had she changed her mind? "And I decided it would be best if we remain engaged indefinitely, until we find the right place to get married." The Doctor's hearts dropped back into their usual positions. "Unless you want to return to Gallifrey for the wedding?" Nyssa added.

"Definitely not!" the Doctor said with fervour. The longer he could delay matters, the better, and an engagement of undetermined length was about the best he could expect under the circumstances. It would give him breathing space to do damage control. Naturally, _he_ couldn't play the villain and break the engagement, but he fully intended to persuade Nyssa that it was in her best interests to do so. As evidence, perhaps he should develop some extremely annoying habits, such as failing to go where and when he had promised, or attempting to reason with long-toothed beasts long past the time that they had earnestly endeavoured to devour his friends.

He instantly launched his first plan, saying, "We shouldn't rush into anything. Circumstances can change unexpectedly. For instance, there's always the possibility at any point that I might suffer grievous injuries and be forced to regenerate again."

Nyssa shrugged, appearing surprisingly unmoved by this argument. "I've seen it once already. If it happens again, I'm sure it will come as much less of a shock than this time did."

"But I could regenerate into an egotistical maniac with bad dress sense who attempts to strangle the first person he sees," the Doctor said desperately.

Nyssa smiled indulgently. "That's hardly likely, is it?"

The Doctor sighed, compelled by his damned innate decency to be honest. "No, I suppose it isn't likely at all."

Nyssa's face lit up, as if she had just experienced a pleasant thought. "And if you regenerated, you probably wouldn't care for cricket anymore, would you?"

"Probably not nearly as much," the Doctor admitted.

"Oh, good!" Nyssa exclaimed. "Then I needn't bother to learn the rules. I find them a bit boring, I'm afraid." She paused, then went on, "And when you regenerate, it's possible you might like those little jelly babies again and carry them around like you used to, isn't it?"

"Yes," the Doctor grudgingly acknowledged.

"That would be nice," Nyssa declared. "I do miss the jelly babies."

"Wouldn't you miss _me_?" the Doctor demanded, suddenly feeling piqued for some reason and wishing he had never brought up the topic of regeneration.

Nyssa looked at him pityingly. "But I wouldn't have to miss you, would I. When you regenerate, you'll still be yourself, won't you? Only, possibly, a you who likes sweets?"

"Oh, yes. Certainly." The Doctor dropped the subject, having been thoroughly routed. But the war was not yet over. His brain, working frantically to find an escape route, had just come up with a brilliant idea. It was such an obvious solution, he wondered why he hadn't thought of it sooner. If their unchaperoned status was such an issue for Nyssa, he would fix that problem. All he had to do was pick up another companion to act as chaperone. It shouldn't be at all difficult. Strangers wandered in; they stowed away; they begged to tag along.

Yes, what he needed to find was a nice, lonely orphan. Orphans were usually good.

The only problem was, when you _wanted_ to find one they were nowhere in sight. They badly needed to land somewhere--anywhere--conducive to picking up a suitable orphan, but the TARDIS was not cooperating.

Three planets, two averted revolutions, and one near beheading later, matters on that front finally began to look up.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the last few days, Nyssa had noticed that the Doctor was behaving in a very shifty and evasive manner, which alternated with buoyant cheerfulness of a variety not seen since before the ginger-beer incident. Therefore, she became suspicious.

She discovered she was entitled to this emotion when they landed on the planet Frania and the Doctor kept trying to slip away from her. This could mean Nothing Good. Letting him go off on his own was always a risky proposition. No matter how innocent their surroundings, he usually managed to become entangled in the most awful trouble the region had ever known. But eventually, her curiosity got the better of her and she allowed him to get "lost". If she found out he was doing something she didn't like, she would... she would... actually, she wasn't sure what she would do. She would just have to wait and base her reaction on whatever he had in mind.

* * *

The Doctor kept his wonderful plan of finding a new companion to himself for the time being. He had a sneaking suspicion that Nyssa might not fully appreciate it at first. Once he had selected the appropriate individual, he would surprise her with the news and then he was sure she would grow to appreciate the idea as much as he did.

He seized the opportunity to search when they arrived on Frania. It was one of the most peaceful planets to be found, well, anywhere. Numerous species had coexisted there for centuries, and visitors were always welcome. Consequently, the Doctor experienced only minor guilt when, after several attempts, he succeeded in separating himself from Nyssa and sidled away into a nearby pub.

After a few false starts, he struck up a conversation with a promising individual: an extremely friendly young foreigner named Z'le who expressed great interest in travel. Even better, he had no close family ties and spoke passionately against social injustices. The only slight drawback was that Z'le was covered with blue fur and even while motionless, he shed copiously. Still, presumably the TARDIS would clean up after him. But if necessary the Doctor would gladly take on the job himself. It would be a very small price to pay, he figured.

Indeed, he almost couldn't believe his luck. Z'le seemed an ideal companion. Even if the Doctor hadn't been desperate, he would have liked to ask the young fellow along.

A feeling of guilt again attempted to sneak in and taint the jubilation, but the Doctor shoved it away. He wasn't being completely selfish by any means. He was thinking of Nyssa in all of this, too. Not only would he be off the hook, so would she. And she would have another friend about the TARDIS. More friends were always of the good.

In the midst of his musings, the pub door next to him swung open and he automatically glanced towards it. Nyssa had found him at just the right moment. He leaped up, eager to perform the introductions. "Ah, Nyssa, I'm glad you're here. Somehow we became separated, but I haven't wasted our time apart. I'd like you to meet my new friend Z'le. We--"

He stopped talking. Rather than approaching them, Nyssa was quickly backing up. The retreat was accompanied by sneezing and choking on her part. Z'le edged towards the other side of the room, all the while apologising profusely as blue tufts of fur drifted through the air.

The Doctor saw his perfect plan falling apart before him. Nyssa was suffering an allergic reaction to Z'le's fur. Her eyes were red and she was visibly upset. The surge of guilt returned with overwhelming force, the Doctor almost feeling like he had deliberately brought about Nyssa's condition. After a hurried goodbye to Z'le, he guided Nyssa back to the TARDIS without further delay.

* * *

Despite Nyssa's unfortunate allergy to his first choice of a new companion, the Doctor was not discouraged. The basic idea was sound and was bound to result in success. He decided to try again, on the planet Neptimius Prime. His first move was to distance himself from Nyssa. Since "getting lost" wouldn't work twice in a row, he instead attempted to leave her aboard the TARDIS.

"Wait," Nyssa objected. "Maybe I'd like to accompany you. What are your plans?"

The Doctor's immediate impulse was to claim that he was looking for spare parts for the TARDIS. Then he reconsidered. Nyssa had some interest in that area and might want to come with him, which would severely compromise his efforts. He quickly chose a safer alternative. "I believe they play cricket here. I might want to take in a match."

As he had hoped, Nyssa's interest evaporated at the mention of the sport. "Oh. I'll just go shopping, instead."

"Wonderful idea." The Doctor searched his pockets and ended up depositing a handful of varied coins into Nyssa's palm. "Here. Something in that lot probably approximates the local currency."

Together they left the TARDIS and walked for what turned out to a considerable distance, the Doctor having misjudged their landing position by a bit. At last, though, they reached the outer walls of the capital and promptly split up as agreed.

This time the Doctor was careful to avoid anyone he so much as suspected of even wearing fur. His screening process led him to the plaza, where he met a young Neptimian woman named Olan. She said she enjoyed new experiences and meeting people. With little time to spend on more intensive interviewing, the Doctor decided to take his chances.

He leaned closer to Olan and asked the all-important question. Her reaction was not precisely the one he had expected.

One minute he was making his casually clever move, and in the next Olan had opened her mouth and emitted a piercing, persistent wail that instantly attracted the attention of four burly antennaed individuals wearing scarlet uniforms.

As they dragged him away from the plaza, the Doctor realised he had committed a cultural faux pas.

* * *

Seven hours later...

The Doctor studied his tiny jail cell, worries over his own captivity superseded by an ever-pressing concern. Surely Nyssa had missed him hours ago. She had probably been searching for him for the entire time, fearing the worst. He only hoped she hadn't run afoul of the local law and landed in her own cell. He had first-hand knowledge of how trigger-happy and unreasonable they were on this planet. Aside from his entirely unfair arrest, the few times a guard had passed along the corridor he had tried to reason with the fellow, but it was like the man had turned deaf.

Seeking any means of release, the Doctor had paced his cell many times over, poked and prodded every bit of it he could reach, attempted to pick the lock, and was still trapped. Again, he bemoaned the loss of his sonic screwdriver. A handful of seconds with that trusty device, and he would have been free. On the other hand, at times its existence had made matters almost too easy. He had fallen out of the habit of using his brain. He now put it to work and came up with precisely zero viable solutions. So it was most fortuitous when the door swung heavily open on creaky hinges and he was allowed to step into the dim corridor.

His liberator was the guard who had consistently ignored him earlier, but the Doctor wasn't one to hold a grudge. "Thank you for listening to me. I knew you were a man of good sense and reason." He extended a hand.

The guard didn't take it. "You didn't talk yourself out. You could have babbled forever and never been released."

"Then why did you let me out? Did Olan tell you I was harmless and she had misinterpreted the situation this afternoon?"

"No. _She_ saved you." The guard hooked a thumb towards the end of the corridor.

Straining his eyes, the Doctor saw Nyssa. To his relief, she appeared perfectly unharmed, although it was difficult to decipher the expression on her face. He didn't think he had ever before seen her wearing quite that look, and it did not inspire great confidence in him. But he had no good opportunity to question her right away, as the guard escorted them both out of the jail and to the outskirts of the city, where he strongly advised them to leave and never return.

Once they were alone, the Doctor eyed Nyssa. "I suppose we might as well go back to the TARDIS," he suggested.

Nyssa immediately began to pick her way across the grass in that direction. The Doctor paced along beside her, stealing an occasional glance at her averted face and trying to determine what the right thing to say might possibly be. When the silence grew to be too much, he offered, "As jails go, it was among the more pleasant cells I've ever visited. It actually had a window. It was microscopic, but it was a window."

Finally Nyssa spoke. "I talked to the woman who got you arrested. She said you asked her if she wanted to see your TARDIS."

She had uttered the words entirely without inflection. The Doctor scented danger--did that mean his instincts were sharpening?--but didn't know the safest answer to give. At last he decided that when in doubt it was best to be honest. "Yes, I did say that to her."

"Oh."

That single syllable was the coldest the Doctor had ever heard. Clearly, he had chosen the wrong words; a lie had been in order.

They continued for a time in even more uncomfortable silence, but as they neared the TARDIS, the Doctor could be quiet no longer. "What's wrong, Nyssa? Obviously you're upset, and I'd like to know why. It can't be because I was in jail, can it? Because that's happened often enough before and you never reacted in this manner."

"If you don't know what's wrong, I can't tell you," she replied.

The instant the door was open, she stalked into the TARDIS, leaving the Doctor to trail and reflect that interspecies communications could be very difficult at times.


	4. Chapter 4

Following the debacle on Neptimius Prime, the Doctor did not see Nyssa for a number of hours. It didn't take a genius to reach the assumption that she was avoiding him.

After what he estimated was a reasonable amount of time to wait, he decided to again attempt to make up with her. A sincere overture should go a long way towards mending fences, and sincerity was one of his current persona's hallmarks. He tapped on Nyssa's door. There was no answer, so he nudged the door ajar and peered inside the room.

Nyssa wasn't there. Even he knew that hunting her down would be a very stupid move. Disappointed, the Doctor withdrew with the intention of making up later. He would just have to wait for Nyssa to come to him.

In the meantime, he thought about his next actions. He temporarily dropped the idea of finding another companion, seeing that his first two attempts had been little short of disastrous, yet his other ideas seemed equally prone to failure.

Eventually night fell outside the TARDIS. He had to come up with something to do, and no matter how he struggled to prolong the experience, procuring a cup of tea consumed mere minutes. He set the steaming mug on the console and grabbed a giant spanner. Fiddling with the TARDIS would make him feel busy, though he was never sure if any of his attempts would result in the slightest success.

At that moment, Nyssa chose to enter the room. She also chose to speak. "Good evening, Doctor," she said breezily, as if their disagreement had never taken place.

He dropped the spanner on his foot, winced, and replied, "Good evening, Nyssa," very cautiously.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions," Nyssa continued.

She hadn't spoken in the tone he had grown to associate with the dreaded wedding plans, so the Doctor, optimistic that she had come up with a fresh and safe vein of conversation to tap, readily consented. "All right. Go ahead."

"I happened to be in the library just now," Nyssa began.

"Oh, yes?" the Doctor said faintly, the sick realisation that Nyssa had been exploring dangerous areas oblitering his optimistic mood.

"Yes, the library," she confirmed. "And it's interesting, really, that I came upon a rather disturbing book behind a shelf way in the back of the room, almost as if it had been hidden."

"_The Rassilonia_?" the Doctor said quickly. "Oh, I just kept that for the articles. The pictures came with."

"No, not _The Rassilonia_."

"Well, _The Omegatron Chronicles_ were officially ruled not to be indecent approximately 277.358 years after I left Gallifrey," the Doctor went on. "So my possession of them is retroactively acceptable and also arguably legal."

"Not _The Omegatron Chronicles_ either," Nyssa clarified.

"Oh." Realising he had dug himself rather a hole, the Doctor suggested, "Perhaps you should just tell me which book you found and then I'll come up with a way to justify my possession of it."

"Maybe that would be best," Nyssa agreed. "Well, it wasn't a published book. It was a sort of journal, and the entries I saw contained some interesting information about you."

"Me?" the Doctor said in his finest "puzzled" tone, which he had been exercising quite often lately. Its usage bought him time to think of a potential cover story and (he hoped) lent him the illusion of bewildered innocence.

"Yes, you." (The Doctor received the distinct impression that Nyssa had seen straight through his "innocent" act and was not amused.) "Specifically, you and a previous fiancee of yours. You got engaged to her over a cup of cocoa, and to me, as you might or might not admit to recalling, over ginger beer. I'm sure you can understand why I'm beginning to wonder exactly how many fiancees you've had over the years."

The Doctor gulped. "You don't mean you know about..."

"I do mean..."

"Cameca," they chorused.

"The Aztec woman you jilted," Nyssa finished by herself.

She stared at him. Long, dead seconds ticked past. Outside, the moon reached its apex. Crickets chirped in the background. However, only when his tea grew cold--and indeed, began to congeal--did it dawn on the Doctor that Nyssa was not going to speak until he did, so he delicately offered, "Cameca was a special case."

"So special that you abandoned her. Left her high and dry with no notice." Nyssa nodded. "I understand."

"It wasn't exactly like that," the Doctor protested. "There was a lot more to the issue."

"In other words, I can expect a repeat performance? I mean, am I more or less special than she was?"

"I don't rank my acquaintances in order of specialness," the Doctor stressed. "Everyone is special."

"In your own unique way, you're saying you could jilt me just as easily as you did Cameca. That's comforting."

"No, I didn't say that." The Doctor was very aware that his voice dripped with frustration, but he couldn't help it. Nyssa seemed to be wilfully misinterpreting every word that slipped out of his mouth.

"Then what do you mean? You certainly don't seem very enthusiastic about our engagement." Nyssa narrowed her eyes. "You know,_ you_ were the one who proposed to _me_."

Since it would be most ungentlemanly to point out that he very much regretted uttering those ill-fated words, the Doctor remained silent.

"So that's the way things are. I see. Well, then, I think you had better find a suitable place for me to permanently live." On that unpleasant note, Nyssa left the room.

Alone, the Doctor mentally composed a to-do list:  
Must recover incriminating journal from Nyssa.  
Must discover identity of author of said journal. (Ian? Susan? Barbara?)  
Must learn improved ways to communicate.

List completed, the Doctor then reached the sad realisation that he could never again safely drink in the presence of others, particularly women. Look at what such folly had twice led to!


End file.
